


Bulletproof Senses

by stardropdream



Category: Tsubasa: Reservoir Chronicle
Genre: M/M, Non-Graphic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-23
Updated: 2013-02-23
Packaged: 2017-12-03 07:31:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/695789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He made sure the bruises remained, ignored the way his thoughts remained and the way his body seemed to always find its way back to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bulletproof Senses

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on LJ April 10, 2010. 
> 
> Warning for: Kamui and Fuuma's strange way of flirting. And Kamui being possessive without realizing he's being so.

  
“You seem frustrated, Kamui, if I may be so bold as to say,” Yuuto said as he slid up to stand beside Kamui who was, sure enough, looking quite frustrated. Arms folded over his chest, he glared off into the middle-distance, as if waiting for something. Kamui made a non-committing grunt, but did not protest the blond man’s nearness. Yuuto stood in stilled silence, but Kamui was waiting for his words. He was smiling too much, and had that habit to say things in questions when he really meant them as statements. Sure enough, he needed to wait only a short while before Yuuto said, “About the tower’s leader, perhaps?”  
  
Kamui turned abruptly away from Yuuto and from the distance horizon and stormed off, his cape billowing behind him.  
  
Yuuto chuckled. “Seems I was right.”  
  
He followed his leader, who obliged this with only the smallest of glares at nothing. He stalked further into the building, hands fisted at his sides now, expression neutral save for the angered expression in his eyes. He stopped a short ways away and Yuuto moved up to his side.   
  
“If you wish to talk about it…”  
  
“Why do you care?” Kamui asked.   
  
“Because I find it terribly rude that he should come here, aggravate you, and then leave us all to be the ones to deal with your mood. Don’t you think that seems a tad bit unfair?”   
  
Kamui slanted him a look and Yuuto shrugged his shoulders in mock surrender. He didn’t, all things considered, seem terribly concerned. In fact, he merely seemed bored. Kamui regarded him in silence for a moment, surveying the man’s expression and deciding he didn’t like the way he smiled—it reminded him too much of the tower leader’s—and looked away.   
  
“If you aren’t actually concerned, then don’t bother me.”   
  
“Perhaps,” Yuuto said, sighing a little.   
  
Kamui was quiet a moment before finally turning to face him. “You’re like him.”   
  
“Hm?”  
  
“Tell me,” he said, firmly, no room for dispute, “How is it that he can fight me, put his life in danger, and still manage to smile like that?”  
  
Yuuto paused, thinking this over. “Is that what aggravates you?”  
  
Kamui’s eyes narrowed and he turned away again. He looked at nothing as he said, “I can’t see behind those eyes. I can’t catch him off-guard no matter what it is I do.”   
  
“Well,” Yuuto said, reasonably. “To catch someone off-guard, you should do something they won’t expect.”   
  
“That doesn’t help me,” Kamui growled.   
  
“It’s all I can offer. I don’t know him,” Yuuto said with a shrug. He stepped forward, clapping Kamui on the shoulder and giving him what he supposed was an encouraging smile. “You shouldn’t think on it too much. Be spontaneous.”   
  
“Hm.”  
  
  
\---  
  
  
“You should be more careful,” Fuuma said calmly, ducking as Kamui aimed a kick at his face. “You almost hit me.”  
  
He grasped Kamui’s leg, the back of his knee, gripping tightly and sweeping his foot out to knock him to the ground. Kamui squirmed from his hold, twisted around and darted away as Fuuma aimed his gun. Fuuma sighed, as if bored, and followed after Kamui. They curled around one another, sending their kicks, their punches, the occasional bullet from Fuuma’s gun. They danced around one another, neither connecting nor managing to pull away.   
  
He smiled at Kamui. Kamui felt his rage boil. Nothing frustrated him more than seeing that face—so benign, so hidden—thinking that he wasn’t taking their fight seriously. Fuuma danced and dodged and laughed. Kamui moved to kill. He moved with deadly precision, and his anger only mounted when Fuuma only gave him another smile and darted away, just beyond his reach, weaving his way between rubble, cracked tiled stones, and discarded bodies.   
  
“I don’t…” Kamui began.  
  
“Don’t what?” Fuuma asked when he did not continue, grabbing Kamui’s wrist and twisting it behind his back, pressing it painfully against his spine until Kamui arched. Fuuma’s other arm wrapped around his hips, tethering them together, breathing against his ear in the way that Fuuma knew drove Kamui crazy with his anger. He squirmed against Fuuma and Fuuma refused to let go, breathing out the barest of laughs that almost made Kamui shiver. He suppressed it, hissing low in his throat curses Fuuma couldn’t quite make out.   
  
“All you do is smile,” Kamui growled out instead. “It’s aggravating.”   
  
“Isn’t it important to smile when you’re happy?”  
  
“You aren’t happy,” Kamui snapped back. “You’re fighting me, you—”  
  
Fuuma cut him off by squeezing his arm and he cut off in a gasp, tilting his head back slightly, swallowing thickly. Fuuma’s breath ghosted over Kamui’s neck and Kamui hissed low in his throat again, body humming. Fuuma ignored the warnings, as always. It was a wonder this stupid human had managed to keep himself alive for so long.  
  
“You should focus on the fight,” Kamui said at last.  
  
“I,” Fuuma said calmly and started to pull away from Kamui, but not before his breath and the slightest whisper of his lips passed over the side of Kamui’s neck, “am perfectly focused on our fight, Kamui. How can you expect me to look away when you seem so determined to beat me?”  
  
With his grip loosened, Kamui pushed away, eyes narrowed.  
  
Fuuma smiled. “It would be rude not to give you my most undivided attention.” He opened his arms out a moment, as if inviting Kamui closer again. “Make it worth my while.”  
  
Oh, Kamui would.  
  
He charged forward, poised to punch the man. He met him halfway, as always.   
  
  
\---  
  
  
Kamui stood at the line between broken tile and acidic wasteland. The bitter wind blew back his hair from his forehead, and he stared out into the darkness for a long moment, mouth pulled into a taut line.   
  
He heard the darkness shift behind him and he glanced over his shoulder to watch Kakyou approach him. They said nothing. Kakyou slanted a look at him and Kamui saw what was not said in his eyes, saw what it was that was already suspected of happening. Kamui frowned.  
  
Then Kamui said, “Watch the water.”   
  
And he darted off into that wasteland.   
  
  
\---  
  
  
Fuuma was not surprised when Kamui came upon him, at least, not outwardly. Fuuma sat just outside the protection of the tower, hood drawn back to look at the stars in the cloudless sky—it wouldn’t rain tonight, at least—when he heard the rustling of cloth and the way the air around him seemed to still.  
  
When he leveled his gaze away from the sky and forward facing instead, Kamui was there, his eyes blazing in the darkness.  
  
“Kamui,” he said in greeting, smiling softly. “What a surprise.”   
  
He shifted on the stone he sat on, rounded from years in the acid rain. He propped his knee up, wrapping an arm around his shin to keep him balanced, leaning forward to observe his opponent with a practiced nonchalance that only set Kamui’s blood on fire.   
  
“You,” he said quietly, face shadowed in the darkness.   
  
Kamui stepped forward, facing Fuuma. Fuuma tilted his head to the side, watching him with a small smile on his face.   
  
Kamui’s brow furrowed. “What?”  
  
“What do you mean, ‘what’?” Fuuma asked.  
  
Kamui whipped his hand out, smashing his palm against Fuuma’s face, fingers and thumb curling into the sides of his jaw and holding firm. Fuuma watched him calmly, though the slightest stiffening of his shoulders betrayed his defensiveness, betrayed the farce of his nonchalance. Kamui glared at him, face contorted, eyes raging. Fuuma, despite the tenseness of his posture, regarded him calmly.   
  
And then Fuuma breathed out a sigh, moved his lips as if he was about to speak, and Kamui felt the breath waver over his skin. Kamui did not draw back. His fingers dug into his skin until he was sure he would leave bruises the shape of his fingerprints along his jaw and cheeks.   
  
“It’s not as if you expected me,” Kamui growled.  
  
“No,” Fuuma agreed, the single word a gentle exhalation against his skin. He breathed. He watched Kamui.  
  
Kamui snapped his arm to the side, forcing Fuuma off the boulder and to the ground, listening for the satisfying crack of skull against the harsh ground. Fuuma rolled with the impact, lying on his back and up at Kamui, rubbing at his forehead idly. Kamui approached him, but did not touch him. Fuuma stared up at him, and Kamui’s eyes flickered when he saw a hand shift. He slammed his heel down on his wrist before it could reach for the gun in its holster.   
  
“Ouch,” Fuuma said, absently, as if forgetting that such actions did hurt. He stared up at Kamui.   
  
He curled his fingers slightly and Kamui’s eyes narrowed, digging his heel deeper into the man’s hand. This time the small hiss that bubbled past Fuuma’s throat was entirely genuine. Kamui almost felt triumphant, but didn’t allow himself to show it on his face. He shifted, pressing his entire weight on Fuuma’s wrist, waiting for that satisfying crack.   
  
It seemed Fuuma grew weary of such a move, because he shifted, rolling onto his side and grabbing Kamui’s ankle with his free hand and tugging. Kamui, balance off, fell backwards onto his back, in time for Fuuma to straddle his hips, pull the gun from his holster, and hold it close to Kamui, a silent promise. He smiled, low in the darkness, a glint in his eyes.  
  
“Why did you come here?” he whispered.  
  
Kamui refused to answer.   
  
Perhaps because he himself did not know the answer.  
  
“Why,” Fuuma repeated, leaning closer, words softer now, but just as deadly, “did you come to me?”  
  
Kamui’s hands snapped out, wrapping around Fuuma’s neck just as he felt the barrel of the gun press against his temple. His thumbs pressed against the skin on either side of Fuuma’s adams apple, his fingers curling around his neck and holding firm.   
  
They stared at one another.  
  
“I could snap your neck right now,” Kamui said, squeezing.  
  
He could feel Fuuma’s pulse racing, feel the way he swallowed around the hands. But his face betrayed nothing. He smiled, and said, “Then why won’t you?”  
  
“What makes you think I won’t?”  
  
“You said ‘could’, not that you ‘would’, Kamui,” Fuuma breathed. He blinked down at Kamui, smile low. “I’d like to see you try.”   
  
“Pull the trigger,” Kamui said with narrowed eyes. “I dare you.”   
  
“I wouldn’t want to ruin your pretty face,” Fuuma determined after a pause. “But you seem to have no qualms of leaving bruises on me, do you. Marking me as your own?”   
  
Kamui’s eyes flashed and he squeezed tighter, making sure his fingerprints would leave bruises. “No.”  
  
“Ah,” Fuuma said with a gasp when the thumbs pressed down on his windpipe, cutting off his air. He wheezed a moment, but he still managed a throaty chuckle. “My mistake.”  
  
Kamui’s hold on Fuuma’s neck slackened after a long moment of looking at one another. The hands slipped away, down his neck, over his collarbone, over his chest—he could feel his heartbeat, racing, adrenaline singing—and pressing there. Fuuma watched him, curiously, the question in his eyes.  
  
And then Kamui’s hand balled into a fist and he punched the human in the solar plexus. As expected, Fuuma rolled away, curling into himself only slightly.   
  
In that moment, Kamui was gone.  
  
  
\---  
  
  
The people of the tower didn’t arrive for many days, and for many days Kamui did not leave the shelter of the underground reservoir. He stared into the water, refusing to let his mind wander, focusing only on his slumbering twin beneath the stilled water. He pressed his mouth against his hand, resting his elbow on his bent knee. His brow remained furrowed for hours, as his mind raced and he refused to let it focus on what it ultimately wandered back to.  
  
Why did he seek that hunter out?  
  
  
\---  
  
  
“Miss me?” Fuuma whispered in his ear as he grabbed both of Kamui’s wrists, forcing them above his head, shoving him against the rubble and sliding up until their hips almost jolted together.  
  
Kamui glared at him. “No.”  
  
He turned his eyes away from Fuuma as he chuckled in his ear. He focused on the small bruises peppering Fuuma’s jaw and his neck—the size of his fingerprints.  
  
“No,” Fuuma murmured against his ear, and Kamui couldn’t know if it was a question or statement. He repressed a shiver.  
  
  
\---  
  
  
“Don’t go near him,” Kamui ordered and Nataku froze, crossbow poised. He stared at his leader. Kamui breezed past him, dropping down from the rubble, eyes only on Fuuma. “He’s mine.”   
  
Fuuma smiled widely at him. “Aren’t I special?”   
  
Kamui dove at him, moving to sweep a kick to the side of his head, hoping to crack his skull. Fuuma met him, as he always did, the only one to be able to lay hands on Kamui. And Kamui, the only one who could ever think to lay hands on him.   
  
The met one another with the honesty that only two fighters could share—Kamui’s unrestrained hatred, burning his eyes, burning his throat. Fuuma’s smile, attention only on Kamui. Even as they lied, the movements, the slight jut of a hip, the flick of a punch, the curl of a body around another—betrayed all their secrets.   
  
Fuuma duck and Kamui dove to meet him. Kamui jumped away and Fuuma darted over to retrieve him. One could not separate from another. One could not let go of the other. Hands grasping wrists, kicks connecting with hips—bruises—  
  
So many bruises.   
  
  
\---  
  
  
“You’re back,” Fuuma said one night, breath fogging as he spoke in the cold night air. His smile looked different from when they fought. “Welcome.”  
  
Kamui said nothing, standing a short ways away, straightened, arms crossed, cloaked in darkness. He stood on a stone a short ways away from where Fuuma sat, regarding him with simple observation.   
  
“I hate it when you smile like that,” Kamui decided. “What will it take to get you to stop?”  
  
“Surprise me,” Fuuma said with a shrug. “How am I to know, Kamui? You ask such strange questions.”  
  
Kamui’s eyes narrowed and he stepped down off the rock, approaching Fuuma.   
  
Fuuma smiled at him, as always.   
  
He lifted a hand, and Fuuma let him. He pushed his hand against him, pressing fingertips to the bruises already there, conforming to a past handprint he could map and mimic. Fuuma allowed this, watching him with silent fascination. Their eyes did not stray from one another. Kamui pressed his hand closer, harder, pressing against the bruises until Fuuma finally relented and betrayed the smallest of flinches.   
  
“I don’t understand you,” Kamui said at last.   
  
Fuuma tilted his head, pressing his face closer to the hold of Kamui’s hand, and Kamui watched as his blunt nails dug into the human’s skin. “You aren’t meant to.”   
  
  
\---  
  
  
The day Kamui caught him off guard was the day when he came to Fuuma as the sun was setting. He arrived to the tower with darkened eyes. He stopped suddenly in front of the tower leader, in a whirl of dust, his long cloak ruffling against his feet before settling.  
  
There was a long silence as they watched one another.  
  
“Hello,” Fuuma said at last.   
  
But before he could say anything else, Kamui was there, inches away from his mouth. And then he pressed up and slammed his mouth against Fuuma’s, kissing him. Fuuma’s eyes widened and he didn’t move a moment, but it was all the same to Kamui, who kissed his mouth, hard, until it bruised and swelled beneath his conquest.   
  
When he pulled away, finally, he licked his lips. Fuuma stared at him, dazed, blinking a moment. The smile was gone.  
  
So Kamui allowed himself that small smirk, tilting his chin up defiantly.  
  
“Hm,” he hummed, then stepped forward swiftly, pulled Fuuma’s gun from his holster, and cracked it against the back of Fuuma’s skull.  
  
Fuuma crumbled to the ground, groaning.   
  
Kamui kneeled down beside him, rolling the human onto his back. His fingers grazed over the bruises cover his jaw and neck still, and his face smoothed out to a thoughtful expression.   
  
If he couldn’t be rid of these thoughts of the hunter, and he would continually be pestered by the aggravating man’s presence, he might as well do what he could to get the advantage. He ducked his head, kissing Fuuma one more time, making sure the bruises remained before pulling away. The knock to the head must have been more than Kamui anticipated, because shortly thereafter Fuuma passed out.  
  
It was just as well.  
  
Kamui straightened, triumphant.   
  
He licked his lips again and returned to the government building before the sun had finished setting, Fuuma’s gun tucked protectively to his side—a souvenir, a reminder.


End file.
